learn the lore
by myriaddays
Summary: In which Ezreal is way too cool, the Kinkou are kinky, and redheads rule the world. Welcome to the League of Legends.


an attempt to take on the 100themes challenge by writing shorts on League. I didn't get very far, but I'll post the ones I've done in no particular order. They all take place in the same universe, but won't be in chronological order for the most part. I have a clear bias towards certain characters - the Demacians, ninjas, Piltover...so if you're out looking for your fix of Fiddlesticks, Zilean, or Malzahar, this probably isn't the story for you.

Pairings that will show up: Katarina/Garen, Shen/Akali, J4/Shyvana, Ezreal/Lux, Jayce/Caitlyn, Syndra/Zed for the record.

Not all of these will be long - I'm pretty much writing just whatever comes to mind at the moment. Things will connect, but not in an overarching storyline.

I try to stay as faithful to the lore as I can. The biggest stretch I think is my take on Shen and Akali's relationship, but that'll come along later.

Without further ado...

* * *

12. insanity

Diplomacy is not Katarina's strong suit. But with Cassiopeia indisposed indefinitely by the serpent's curse and their father missing – considered dead by many – it falls on her shoulders to be the one to meet with the Demacians on a monthly basis.

She sighs and squints her eyes against the light that seems to glint off everything in this city as she walks away from the meeting place. She really finds the place despicable. It seems its inhabitants feel the same way about her, judging by their undisguised hostile gazes.

Katarina ignores them, thumbing the hilt of one of her daggers absently as she strides down the street. Her mind is already back in Noxus, thinking about the next report she will have to present to the High Command, her need to check up on the spy she's planted in Darius' entourage, and a myriad of other things. Looking back on it, it's this lack of focus – this need for a distraction, because she certainly doesn't want to dwell on that uncharacteristic uncertainty she felt during that meeting – that leads to everything ending up the way it does. That, and her overestimation of the integrity of Demacians.

She almost senses something is wrong, but by then it is far too late; something falls in the middle of her path and she barely has enough time to register what it is before it detonates.

* * *

"Well," Jarvan says. "That was painful."

Garen scowls, and says nothing.

The prince continues on heedlessly. "I don't think I've ever seen you, or her, so nervous before."

"It was the first time we saw each other," mutters Garen, turning to the window and rubbing the back of his head. "Since that one time…when she came here to support you regarding Relivash."

"Ah," says Jarvan. "You're right."

He glances down at the conference table and raises an eyebrow. "Looks like she forgot something. A letter?"

Garen still isn't talking, so Jarvan quirks his mouth and keeps going.

"You know, had any other man stepped in to defend her, I think she would have gutted him. But you…and her…there's something…"

The Crownguard stares out at the Demacian skyline and again offers no response.

"Why Katarina?" Jarvan asks finally, done with all attempts at subtlety. "Just – what it is about her that makes you act so…differently?"

The prince didn't expect much of a concrete reply, so when Garen utters a short, bitter bark of laughter he can't help but be surprised. Turning, with a twisted grin on his face he answers, "I love her because I cannot have her."

Someone enters the room just then, cutting short the silence beginning to stretch between the two old friends.

"My lord."

Jarvan snaps his gaze up, and rests his eyes on the intruder.

"Ah, Shyvana. Is it time already?"

"Just after one," says the half-dragon, giving Garen a cool look as she speaks, "as you said. Also, your mother would like to see you when you have a chance."

Jarvan quirks an eyebrow, gathering up his papers. "Glad to see that you're both on speaking terms again."

Shyvana's cheeks turn dusky. "Oh, shut up," she mutters, pivoting sharply on her heel to turn to leave.

About to follow her out, Jarvan turns back to Garen for a moment, the smile that Shyvana's appearance has produced vanishing from his face as he does so. "You should probably try and get du Couteau that letter before she leaves Demacia. It could be something important."

Garen picks it up, turning it over absently in his hands. "Yeah…"

"Let's talk later," Jarvan suggests innocently, before letting the door swing shut behind him.

Garen makes his way out of the building onto the streets and asks some of the guards stationed nearby whether they saw which way the Noxian went. They point him in the direction they last saw her and he starts jogging.

A few blocks later, he can see her down the street – it's easy, she stands apart from the crowd in every way. Not that anyone is walking even close to her; everyone is giving her at least a ten foot berth, staring warily as she passes by. The dark red of her hair and the black of her clothing stand in such stark contrast to the gleaming silver and blue of Demacia that for a moment he can't help but stop and drink in the sight of her.

Then something falls from the sky and even from here Garen can suddenly smell an overpowering metallic scent. Ester. He remembers Lux telling him how these days all the techmaturgists are using it to make explosives. The same smell follows Ziggs around the Institute as the yordle patters around giggling under his breath.

He moves without thinking, powering through the pedestrians blocking his way. He's not sure what reaches her first – him, or the explosion, but regardless he gets to her and tackles her away, fire already searing his cloak.

Something already hurts, but it's not bad. He blinks away moisture from his eyes, clearing his vision, and sees Katarina below him, trapped between his arms.

There's a bad-looking gash on her cheek, but she's conscious and for a single second the two stare at each other, chests heaving – there's almost a confused tilt to her eyebrows – then the roar of a second explosion blasts his ears and the rest is darkness.

* * *

Akali closes the door quietly behind her, and makes her way down the corridor to the break room. There is someone out on the balcony. She takes her time preparing herself a cup of tea before taking it out to join her colleague.

"It seems we're in here more and more these days," she says, sliding the glass door closed behind her.

Shen moves over so she can sit down next to him. He closes the file in his lap and remarks, "It's a change of pace."

Akali brings the cup to her lips and stares out into the sunrise over the steam. It's chilly. A lot earlier than she thought it was, too.

"How is Garen?"

"Already gone," Akali answers. "The Noxians want some answers about what happened."

Shen takes the cup when she offers it and raises it to his lips.

"The Demacians have the man in custody already. He's a radical, they're saying. Not affiliated with their military at all…"

Akali trails off. Shen hands back the tea.

"Just you," he says. "Not Kennen. Take two days."

"I'll see what I can find out."

* * *

Katarina despises being injured, almost as much as she despises the wards on the Institute. Both inhibit her ability to flit through the air so fast no one can see, to move like what she is – an _assassin. _Right now, both things are weighing down on her bones, and she groans at the oppressive feeling and sits up with some effort.

The girl dozing in the seat in front of her jumps and wakes up. "Oh!" she says. "Katarina. You're…you're awake."

That's the kind of stupid statement that makes Katarina want to give a snide retort, but before she can her breath catches in her throat and she coughs. Riven stands, because of course it's Riven, and hurries over to pour her a glass of water.

Katarina accepts it and drinks half of it before putting it on the bedstand beside her. She's in the Institute clinic, that much is obvious, but the reason why she might be in this condition is escaping her at the moment. Some morning light is filtering in through the window. She narrows her eyes and finally looks at Riven, who is hovering nervously on the side.

"What happened?" she asks bluntly.

Riven tugs at her bracer, lowering her eyes as if she's about to say something heavy. "Well…about a week ago, you were in Demacia for a meeting with the prince. On your way back…someone attacked you. They used explosives. They're saying you would have…died if it wasn't for Crownguard."

At that name, Katarina's breath hitches, unbidden, because she remembers what happened now and she doesn't quite know what to think. Garen saving her bothers her more than the fact that some idiot tried to assassinate her.

Now that she can remember, she can't get that frozen moment out of her head – Garen poised over her, the strangest look on his face. He looked…concerned. Panicked, almost.

Fuck. He wasn't supposed to _care._

"How's he doing?" she mumbles, to distract herself.

Riven raises an eyebrow. "Crownguard? Oh, he's fine. He was wearing loads of armor when he saved you, so he wasn't as hurt as you were."

Good, thinks Katarina before she can stop herself. She huffs in disgust at her sudden softness and looks away when Riven glances at her with an odd expression.

"In any case, I'm going to tell Shen you're awake. The High Command has been waiting for you to wake up to hear your side of the story. They're just itching for a reason to go to war with Demacia."

"We have the League for a reason," yawns Katarina, moving her legs over to the side of the bed and wincing.

Riven pauses at the door. "Yes, but…the people are incredibly angry. You know how fond they are of you."

Katarina snorts, because that might be true for half of the population of Noxus, but the other half most certainly hates her guts. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"It was close," Riven utters briefly, before disappearing out of the room.

The exile is a sentimental one, but even so the serious tone of her voice worries Katarina. She looks herself over again and finds all her limbs attached properly, just a few stitches in random places on her skin and fading burns. Shen probably operated on her, so she won't expect any more scars to add to her collection. The worst of it feels like the bump on her head, which hurts even when she touches it gingerly. With a sigh, she gathers her knees to her chin and stares out the window.

She hasn't felt this tired in a while. Moments like this she wishes her father were still here, so she could be more of a daughter and less of a leader, as much as she hates to admit it to herself.

There's so much to do, but she's been unconscious for days and she knows it is _wrong_ but she cannot stop thinking of Garen Crownguard's handsome face and what she will say to him the next time they meet.

Because each time they see each other she already feels so – anxious. Like she's a young girl again, tongue-tied and clumsy. When they're on the battlefield it's a dance of blades and precise calculated movement and utter perfect exhilaration, but _normally_? She can barely look him in the eye. She loathes it. Uncertainty does not befit a du Couteau. Uncertainty and hearts skipping beats and jealousy do not befit a du Couteau.

And now? Now that he saved her life on pure instinct? And risked his own in the process? Now…

Katarina buries her head in her arms and groans aloud in frustration, wishing she could hate him. Things would make so much more sense that way.

* * *

"We've got a bit of time before it's your turn," Jarvan says, snapping the curtains closed. "Let's talk."

Garen rubs his forearm. "There isn't much to talk about."

"Humor me."

"You're so damned nosy," Garen snaps, finally losing his temper. "I don't pester you about Shyvana all the time, do I?"

Jarvan blinks at this, then sets his mouth in a slight frown. "There is nothing between Shyvana and me."

Garen laughs harshly. "Right. At least I'm not in denial."

"About that." Jarvan's voice is quiet. "Look. This is…the last time I'll ask. You never really explained yourself, that one time. And afterwards…you could have died, you know, trying to protect her. Everyone who saw the accident said you didn't hesitate a moment."

His old friend stands and begin to pace. Jarvan's eyes follow him as he walks back and forth across the room.

"Just tell me if this will interfere with your allegiance to Demacia."

Garen looks up, eyes flashing. "Never."

"Really?" Jarvan says cynically. "The way you're acting, I wouldn't know it."

"You don't understand a damned _thing_ about how I feel," hisses Garen, venom in his tone as he stops in his tracks.

Jarvan smiles grimly, and folds his arms over his chest. "Then explain it to me."

Garen bites back an angry word and moves to lean against the wall of the conference room. He flexes his right palm several times, then calmly begins to speak.

"Our goals are diametrically opposed. But…the way we believe in them is exactly the same. In being strong, fearless, vigilant, not afraid to use power…and if she chose me over Noxus, that would mean throwing away everything she believes in. Everything I admire her for would mean nothing. It's the same for me, to her, I know. Do you understand now?"

He stares at the prince, unwavering, till the other man breaks away to focus on the ground, brow furrowed.

"That's insane."

Garen looks away. "Don't pity me. You're no better off."

More silence, and he stands from the wall. "Sorry. That was low."

Jarvan picks up his crown and places it on his head, and manages a thin smile. "No worries. You're right, anyway."

There's a light tap at the door, and Lux pokes her head in. She glances questioningly at each of them, clearly aware of the uncomfortable atmosphere, but doesn't say anything other than, "It's your turn to go on the stand, Garen."

The commander squeezes the bridge of his nose. "Thanks, Lux."

"Of course." Lux starts closing the door, but her brother speaks again.

"Is…she out there?"

Lux hangs on the door handle, and raises an eyebrow. "Yes. She's the victim, after all."

"I'll be right out," Garen says softly, and his sister nods and closes the door.

Jarvan sighs, and puts his hand on his friend's shoulder because he looks incredibly tense. "Come on. Let's go."

Garen is still for a long moment. Then he nods and withdraws his sword from its scabbard and places it on the table.

"Redheads, huh?" Jarvan can't help saying, wry.

"Go to hell," Garen says lightly.

"Sometimes I think it would be easier there than it is on Runeterra these days…"

* * *

What would you like to see next? Romance, drama, any certain characters? Let me know in a review if you like.


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